A reader's journal sharing the insights of various authors and my take on a variety of topics, most often philosophy, religion & spirituality, politics, history, economics, and works of literature. Come to think of it, diet and health, too!

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

“My goodness, what should we think of such a film?” I can
hear Donald Rumsfeld saying it now. His good-natured, awe-shucks language
serves as a veneer on this most ambitious and arrogant man.

For those of you who may have forgotten, Donald Rumsfeld
served as the U.S. Secretary of Defense for George W. Bush. On the filming and
questioning end, we have the acclaimed documentary filmmaker Errol Morris,
whose documentary The Fog of War: Eleven
Lessons from the Life of Robert McNamara is among my favorite
films. Indeed, I savored the anticipation of
comparing the McNamara experience with Rumsfeld’s, but the comparison fell
flat.

Someone likened McNamara to the Flying Dutchman, sailing
from port to port in search of redemption. In The Fog of War, we see McNamara trying to come to terms with the
tragedy of Vietnam, the tragedy of Lyndon Johnson, the harrowing experience of
the Cuban Missile Crisis, and the loss of innocence (if that’s the right term)
caused by the assassination of JFK. He came across as genuine and conflicted—not
an evil man. He believed in his calling, and he remained loyal to the memory of
the two presidents under whom he served. McNamara did only one stint in
government: Secretary of Defense for Kennedy and Johnson (excluding military
service in WWII for the Army Air Corps under Curtis LeMay) .

Rumsfeld doesn’t generate sympathy; he generates perplexity.
His smile and charm are like the smile of the Cheshire Cat: he hides behind it.
Morris lets us know that when Rumsfeld took the helm at the Pentagon for the
second time (he held the job under Gerald Ford as well) he had the reputation
of a consummate Washington player. One gets the sense from his resume and
from keeping pals like Dick Cheney that he never went into anything naively.

We learn in the film that Rumsfeld is a memo-maker, writing
notes to himself and others incessantly. “Snowflakes”, he (or someone) came to
call them. He thinks on paper, or at least seems to think. But here's the
enigma: the man who tried to reason out his votes as a young congressman appears immune
to real reflection—at least by the time that he’s serving in the Bush Administration. One takes away from the film no admission of misjudgment or
mistake and only a cursory admission of uncertainty about the whole Iraq War
undertaking.

I’ve read recently about human
reasoning as a vehicle for persuasion rather than a process for reaching truth.
Sperber and Mercier have proposed the Argumentative Theory of Reason that
claims that humans developed reasoning skills to persuade others. (Their paper here
and summaries here
& here.)In a group with open discussion and the
ability to examine and criticize others, reasoning can work well. However, when
we attempt to reason on our own, our reasoning goes astray under the influence
of the confirmation bias and other self-interested motives. Iain McGilchrist in
his RSA Animate short
and in his book The Master and His
Emissary makes a related point about the brain. McGilchrist argues that
the right brain, which perceives experience in context and dynamically, is
undercut by the static, abstract, and tightly focused left-brain that is
dominant (but not exclusive) in the production of language. McGilchrist writes:

Sequential analytic
‘processing’ also makes the left hemisphere the hemisphere par excellence of
sequential discourse, and that gives it the most extraordinary advantage in
being heard. It is like being the Berlusconi of the brain, a political
heavyweight who has control of the media. Speech is possible from the right
hemisphere, but it is usually very limited. We have seen that thought probably
originates in the right hemisphere, but the left hemisphere has most syntax and
most of the lexicon, which makes it very much the controller of the ‘word’ in
general. Coupled with its preference for classification, analysis and
sequential thinking, this makes it very powerful in constructing an argument.

I mention this because watching this film seems to lend so
much support to this perspective. In appearance and in language (oral and
written), Rumsfeld comes across as the consummate thinker and reflector, but in
reality, it’s all so much bull shit. He makes no connection between the
realities in Iraq, Afghanistan, or Guantanamo and his words. In print and
briefly in the film, Morris notes that Rumsfeld was very taken with the issue
of Pearl Harbor and how the Japanese were able to attack U.S. bases when the
U.S. knew that an attack was likely. (In articles appearing in the New York Times, Morris further discusses
Rumsfeld’s interest in the work of Roberta
Wohlstetter and Thomas Schelling about Pearl Harbor.) In fact, we learn
that in July 2001 Rumsfeld wrote a memo about how such an event might
occur again and (presumably) how to avoid it. But he makes no substantive
connection with the events of 9/11. This happened on his watch. One plane
crashed into his Pentagon. All words, no connections.

The film takes its title from one of Rumsfeld’s most famous utterances.
You must watch to the end of the film to unpack what he said and then attempt
to figure out what he means. In the end, it just seems to have been words,
words, words.

At the conclusion of The Fog
of War I felt sympathy for McNamara and I said to friends at the theatre,
“they should send this to the Bush Administration”. I don’t think anyone in the
Bush Administration watched that film before heading off into the war in Iraq.
Alas, at the end of The Unknown Known,
I can't feel sympathy for Rumsfeld. I feel sorry for us. I think we got
suckered.

About Me

I am currently living in Bucharest, Romania with my wife. I offer services as a freelance lawyer to other lawyers in the U.S. and abroad. I also blog @ http://sngabroad.blogspot.com and at http://greenleafadvocacy.com/persuasive-life-blog/